Kill on Command (9 page)

“You know who.  The girl on the bike,” Brian then noticed the blood.  “Jesus, Sean!  Get down.  You are killing yourself.”

“No big deal,” Sean said.

“The girl or the blood,” he said and grabbed Sean’s glove covered hand.

“The blood,” Sean said, as he took off the gloves revealing his torn skin.  He turned on the hose on the side of the garage to wash out the cuts.  It stung. 

“She’s a big deal.  I met her at Starbucks.  She sat down with me.  Wouldn’t tell me her name and then she just showed up here,” Sean continued.

“So now you can’t even get coffee without being attacked?  Bless your heart.  You never told me what happened last night with Jennifer,” Brian said.

“Nothing.  She never called.”

“Bullshit.  I sent her over here.  She showed up at Doc’s.”

“Damn it!  I thought that was who Monica was talking about this morning,” Sean said.

“Probably.  Nobody else looks like that around here, except maybe that blonde that just rode out of the driveway.  She never showed?  That’s weird.  She was practically drooling at the thought of you.”

“Really?” Sean asked, looking at his hands.

“Yeah, but she was a no-show.  Your loss, dummy.”

Brian had his hands on his hips, his cleats were already on.  He was looking at Sean.  He was concerned.

“You really need to go inside and wrap those hands, or you can’t play.”

Sean shrugged his shoulders and picked at his hand.

“What’s wrong with the Jeep?”  Brian said, finally noticing the battery charger.

“Won’t start.  We need to take the Benz,” Sean said nodding to the car under the cover.

“Let me see,” he walked over and got in the driver’s side of the Jeep and turned the key.  It roared to life.  “Nothing wrong here.”  He got out, left it running and disconnected the charger.

“Son of a . . . “ Sean mumbled.

“Come inside and get cleaned up.  We need to leave in about five minutes.”

Sean’s back felt tight from the pull-ups.  He wasn’t worried.  He recovered pretty fast these days.

Brian tossed him some gauze and athletic tape.  Sean started wrapping his hands.  When he was finished, he opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water.  He grabbed an apple from the counter and went back outside.  Bailey had gotten out of the house and was sitting in the passenger side seat again.  Sean put the water and apple on the seat so he could lead her back inside.  He gave her a hug and went back outside with Brian.  He had loaded his equipment in the back, plus a duffel bag which no doubt contained his radio and other police stuff.  Sean slid into the driver’s seat and waited while Brian closed the garage.  Sean backed out of the driveway and headed for the field.  Sean turned into the parking lot and rolled up to the edge of the chain link fence that enclosed the field.  At the far end of the field, there was an older man inspecting the grass while walking towards them.  Brian waved at him and jumped out of the Jeep, rummaging through his duffel for an envelope. 

“That your bribe?”  Sean asked.  He was kidding. Brian was very kind and always took care of the folks he felt needed it or those who helped him. 

“Just something for Tony and his wife.  He is a huge Pen’s fan.  I am giving him my season opener tickets.  Grab our stuff, will you?”  Brian said, snapping the envelope on the seat of the car.  Sean knew there were more than just tickets in there.  Brian was like that.  He would probably end up giving everything away before he died.

“Sure.” 

Sean got out, picked up the equipment and the duffel and followed Brian onto the field.  He was already talking to Tony.  Tony hugged him.  Sean could tell Brian was smiling and thanking him.  Sean dumped the equipment on the sideline nearest the street and sat down on the grass.  The Shadyside Prep field was easily the best they played on all year.  Rich, deep green grass.  The kind that actually is not too bad to fall on.  Across the field, just beyond the bleachers was the school.  Ringed by old trees, it had an Ivy League look to it.  Brian approached.

“You want to toss it around a little?”  Brian asked, picking up his stick.  Brian had practically been born with a stick in his hand.  He attended camps across the country.  He could have played at Syracuse, Hopkins or UNC, but he wanted to go to WVU like his grandfather.  He ended up playing club lacrosse for four years in Morgantown.  He played for a pro team for a few months as well.  He dominated the men’s club level and had a great time and never regretted his decision to go to WVU.

“Sure, I am really rusty.”  Sean got up, picked up the d-stick, and jogged onto the field.  Brian zipped one to him.  Sean snatched it without effort and sent it back to Brian.

“Wow.  I would not call that rusty,” Brian said as he moved to his left and flipped the ball back over his shoulder.  Ten minutes quickly passed and the rest of the team started to trickle onto the field.  They were all happy to see Sean, which surprised him.   Everyone asked where he’d been and what he had been up to.

“Sean, I missed you!  Without you here, I am the biggest goon!” said Tom Ryan, one of the team’s attackmen.  Tom had gone to WVU with Brian and Sean and had been their roommate off and on.  A little bit shorter than Brian, Tom lived in Pittsburgh and worked for a large PR firm doing political stuff.  Sean shook his hand.

“Come on buddy, you’ll always be the biggest goon to me,” Sean said poking Tom in the mid section with his stick.  The team began warming up in a very un-organized fashion.  Some guys took it seriously and tried to get drills going, but without much success.   A handful of cars pulled into the lot.  The Harrisburg squad had arrived.

“Brian,” Sean said, nodding towards the lot.  “Your friends are here.”  Brian jogged over and met the Harrisburg guys and pointed over to the other sideline.

“Thanks for having us, Brian,” said Andrew Foster, the head of the Harrisburg club.  “We going to Doc’s after?”  Most guys played simply for the social aspect.

“You know it.  We have a keg for the teams.” 

“My man!”  Andrew said, as he was slapping Brian’s back.

Not everyone was happy.  Steve Vaughn, a Harrisburg middie, hated the Pittsburgh group, but mostly he hated Sean.  There was bad blood.  Vaughn, unlike Sean, was a former D1 mid-fielder at Duke.  He was big time, or at least thought he was.

“I see that asshole, Garrison, is back,” Steve said to Andrew as he was pulling his gloves out of his bag.  Andrew turned and got in Steve’s face.

“Look, I don’t want a fight.  I want to play and then drink a lot of beer. Just cool it,” Andrew said.  Steve pushed him back.

“Yeah, sure.”

The referees arrived. Brian announced that they would start in thirty minutes.  Sean got up and jogged across the field.  He reached the other sideline and hunkered down and ran backwards, turning left, then right every ten yards.  Arriving at his sideline, he stopped and sprinted back to the other side, starting the whole process again.  Tom walked up to Brian.

“What’s he doing?”  Tom asked, still watching Sean.

“Running,” Brian said, pulling on his shoulder pads.

“I see that.  This is a guy who could barely run a hundred yards a year ago.” 

“Change of attitude.  I guess,” Brian said, reaching for his arm pads.

“Hey, is he going to keep his mouth shut?”  Tom asked, looking at the Harrisburg guys who were also watching Sean.

“Yeah, I talked to him.  No problem.”  As the words came out of Brian’s mouth, Sean was approaching the other sideline.  Steve was standing there.

“Hey, Steve,” Sean said, as he approached the sideline.

“I thought you were off the team, Garrison?” Steve sneered.  Sean stopped and turned to head back to other side.

“I was, but they brought me back.  I specialize in beating up eunuchs like you,” Sean smiled and ran back the other way.  One of the Harrisburg guys grabbed a handful of Steve’s shirt and pulled him the other way.

“Let it go,” the teammate said.  Both turned and went back to the group.

“I’m going to ear-hole that bastard,” Steve said to himself.  He glared at Sean over his shoulder.

Stacy and Michelle had arrived and were walking from their car to the bleachers.  Brian waved at them.  They waved back.

“Stacy, I don’t want to be here,” Michelle said to her friend.  Michelle was around 5’9” with long jet-black hair and dark eyes.  She had on a pair of shorts that showed off her caramel colored legs.  Her mother was Japanese and her father African-American.  She was a combination of the best of both of them.  She rowed at WVU and still rowed when she could down on the Allegheny River with the Three Rivers Rowing club.  As much as she loved the water, she loved books more.  Her heart was in the classroom, an outstanding student; she went to Johns Hopkins for medical school and was now at UPMC.  She wore a gray Hopkins sweatshirt.

“Come on.  It will be fun.  There’s a party afterwards,” Stacy pleaded.  Stacy had on jeans and V-neck sweater.   They both settled in the bleachers behind the team

Sean was standing next to Tom looking around.

“Who you looking for buddy?” Tom said, trying to see.

“A girl,” Sean said absently.

“Michelle is back there,” Tom said squinting in the sun, looking at Michelle.

“Yeah, I know.  This is somebody else.  I met her at Starbucks.  Amazing.  Right away, I felt like I knew her.  You know what I mean?”  Sean said.  Tom looked at him puzzled.

“No, I don’t.  You sound like a pussy,” he paused and looked at Sean.  “Hey, can I ask out Michelle?”  He stood there waiting for a reaction.  Sean was still scanning the stands for Sandy.  He felt certain she would come.

“Go ahead.  I know she turned you down once already.”  Sean looked at him.  Tom stared at the ground, a little embarrassed.

“You knew about that?”  Tom asked.

“Yeah.  Probably did not want to catch anything.” Sean smirked and walked over to Brian. 

“Brian, you have a jersey for me? “  Brian reached into the duffel and tossed him a gold jersey.  Number thirteen.  He dropped his stick and pulled off the black wool cap.  His hair was wet with sweat.  He pulled the sweatshirt over his head.  Immediately, he heard some whistles.  The black sleeveless Under Armor compression shirt he was wearing made his delts and traps pop, his triceps and biceps had multiple veins running across the muscles.  His wrists rippled.  Through the shirt you could make out Sean’s abs – a six-pack. 

“Wow!  Welcome to the gun show!”  Tom yelled. 

“Shut up Tom,” Sean said. 

Stacy poked Michelle.

“What?” she exclaimed, looking at Stacy.  Stacy pointed at the field.  Michelle leaned forward.  She did not say anything.  She stared at Sean.  “What has he been doing?” she said to herself.

“Worth the drive.  Right,” Stacy laughed.  

Sean saw Michelle and nodded in her direction and put his helmet and then his gloves on.  She was not worth a wave.

Sandy noticed, too, but of course she had been watching him for a long time.  She had taken a seat in the bleachers on the Harrisburg side.  Sean saw her and pointed his stick in her direction.  She did not respond.

“Who’s that?” Michelle asked Stacy, as she looked at the tall blonde figure across the field.

“No telling,” Stacy sneered.

Sandy had a good view of everything from her vantage point.   She had leaned her bike against the fence and was six rows up.   She was still wearing the same clothes from earlier.  She could see Bill and Bob across the street.  Others also had a good vantage point.  Steve and two other guys from Harrisburg walked over and leaned on the fence surrounding the field and looked up at her in the bleachers.